The Return of the Man with Blood on his Breath
by kc256
Summary: On hold: I might finish it, might not. The man known as President Snow is thought to be dead. But the unsuspecting people of Panem do not realize that he is very much alive, and plotting his return to power... Sequel to The Secrets of the Girl with the Fox-Like Face.


**Author's Note: I have finally finished this first chapter, on the last possible day before I break my promise of updating in June 2012 (I know, I know, there are more days in June, but from Tuesday on I won't have access to a computer). So yay! :)**

**If you haven't read my story called The Secrets of the Girl with the Fox-like Face, I would definitely recommend reading that before you read this. This isn't necessarily a sequel, and I suppose you could read this one first, but later on some things might be confusing.  
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**Okay, now a GIANT thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter in The Secrets of the Girl with the Fox-like Face with ideas for a sequel. Without you, the story you are about to read would not be the same at all (I was planning on doing a story from Snow's perspective for a third story, but decided that would be a lot more interesting than what I had planned for the second). I would especially like to thank Sarcastic Sharpie, who gave me the idea of Snow being one of the Volturi. I hope you don't mind that I stole your idea. (and if you do... well... we'll figure it out)  
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**I did not think of (nor do I claim that I thought of) any elements in here that you recognize from either the Twilight Saga or The Hunger Games trilogy. I'm just borrowing these characters/places/ideas and blending them together.  
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**Please review! I love constructive criticism!  
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**This is getting to be a long author's note, but I have one more thing left to say...  
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**Enjoy!**

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Prologue

_I do enjoy the human's attention. It's kind of funny how they assume that I'm a mortal, just like them. Maybe that's why I was always bored with Aro's fascination with control over other vampires. Who cares about other vampires? Who cares if another coven has more power than us? I would much rather exert my power—perhaps limited compared to one of the more specially gifted ones that Aro prizes… Jane and Alec come to mind—over the infinitely inferior humans. Yes, I was once one of them. But now I am not. And now that Aro and Caius and all the others are dead—or at least, unaware of my existence while I am unaware of theirs—who's to say that I can't play with those pathetic mortals, play games of my own choosing?_

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I almost wanted to laugh at the serious faces in the crowd. They stared up at me, their stony eyes ready to watch the man that they despised finally die. But I knew that even if Miss Everdeen's arrow hit me directly in the heart, or wherever an arrow is supposed to be most lethal, I would not die. I wasn't the mere mortal they thought I was. Sure, I was their hated President Snow, but I was also Marcus, one of the Volturi, a vampire who had the power to kill them all.

I also knew, however, that I would have to fake my death. The average human doesn't know that immortal vampires exist, and I had to abide by my own rules. But there would always be an opportunity for me to come back. I had done it before.

Miss Everdeen slowly walked to her designated position. I can't remember if the crowd cheered or stayed silent—all I remember is gazing into her determined eyes, her pretty, gray, angry eyes. And I couldn't hide my smirk. Mortals could get so full of themselves. There she was, thinking herself a heroine, the spark that burned down my carefully constructed reign of power, the oh-so-important Mockingjay. But right in that moment, she didn't strike me as a heroine. The only word that I could think of that described her was weak. She was a weak pawn, too blinded by glory to see the world as it really was.

She raised her bow, and notched her single arrow in the string. She concentrated. The world held its breath.

She made eye contact with me for half a second. She pulled back the string.

And in one sudden move, she pulled the bow upward and let her arrow fly. And this time I distinctly remember what I heard. The thunk of an arrow reaching its mark in a body. The crash of that body falling, lifeless. The collective gasp of a crowd. I was tightly bound to the chair I was in, but I could swivel around just enough to see President Coin on the ground. President Coin on the ground with an arrow protruding from her heart.

I couldn't hold it in that time. I started laughing hysterically. I laughed as the crowd dissolved into chaos. I laughed as guards rushed to my would-be assassin, disarming her (although what damage Miss Everdeen could've done with an arrowless bow, I do not know) and stripping away any chance for her to have a clean, painless suicide. I laughed as I realized that perhaps Miss Everdeen was not as weak as I thought she was.

I started coughing up blood. It kept happening as I got older. I didn't know why, but in some sick way it was satisfying to swallow human blood twice. It stopped me from killing all the petty people a president must deal with each day.

And since I didn't want to have to deal with all the assassination preparation again, I decided to end it right at that moment. I tipped forward in my chair violently, forced myself to cough up more blood, and convulsed a bit for good measure. The mob of confused citizens and equally confused guards flooded over me. Although I am sure that not many noticed my heaving body, I tried to make a good show of President Snow finally dying. I mean, the last time I faked my death I didn't have an audience—all I had to do was try to kill everyone who knew I was alive, which was incredibly boring. And this was an end to another stage of my life. It was kind of sentimental for me.

Eventually the crowd thinned. People realized that running around wildly didn't bring back who they thought was an innocent woman, nor did it bring back the image of a girl who did everything in a predictably rebellious fashion. Or perhaps Miss Everdeen had gotten a smidge _too_ rebellious for them. I had a lot of time to think about Miss Everdeen's character as I was collapsed on the ground. I stared at the sky, not blinking, trying to make my eyes look appropriately glassy and unseeing. I could've closed them, but there's no challenge in that... I've always loved challenges. And so, I was still staring upward, noting the difference between the then-evening sky's hue and the shade it was when I first fell, when a guard leaned over me. He was a young man, really. Still in the prime of his life. But there was an aged look to his face. He went through a lot in his past. But I didn't care. The only reason I was even wasting my precious thoughts on him was because I was very, very bored. I could only analyze Miss Everdeen's character so much.

"Snow's dead." he called out, after prodding me with his boot.

"Great." replied a gruff voice. Footsteps approached me. Two pairs of hands lifted me up and stuffed me into a sack.

I spent quite a lot of time in that sack. The two men carried me a long way. They didn't jostle me as much as I thought they would.

We finally reached our destination, and the men placed me on a table. "What are you going to do with him?" a third voice asked—this time, a woman's.

"He doesn't deserve a burial. And the sea's too far away."

"Let's just burn him."

They started discussing the details of my cremation, but I didn't bother to pay attention. I needed to figure out how to escape—to be burned would mean my death.

Luckily, they decided to burn my body the next day, since it was late and they had to get back to their families. They said some brief goodbyes, turned out the light, and left me on the table.

When I was sure that no one was anywhere near me, I slipped out of the sack. For a moment, I wondered what they would do when they found out I was missing. Would they believe that I was alive? They might, but I reasoned that they would never want anyone to know that they lost my body. They would probably figure that someone else disposed of me.

I walked out of the room, and down a long hallway. The building was easy to navigate, and soon I was out. I allowed myself to enjoy the breeze caressing my face.

I was free. I was going to have a fresh start.

Out of nowhere, I started coughing. Blood splattered on the ground. I realized that I really needed to start figuring out why this was happening. But no one heard me, and so in that moment it didn't matter.

I leisurely walked around. I saw dark houses—people were sleeping, thinking that they were safe now that I was dead.

But I wasn't.

I couldn't help but reflect back on my previous fresh start. I can't remember the year exactly, but I know that the particularly superstitious humans were getting all nervous because they thought the world was going to end. Aro was done with his stupid Cullen obsession. Life was continuing on as normal for the Volturi, which meant that I was more bored than ever.

Natural disasters were happening all around the world, and the humans were scared. It started out small—large earthquakes happening every once in a while. But soon it escalated. Earthquakes devastated cities every day, bringing along tsunamis. Hurricanes ravaged coasts. And the damage itself from these events caused catastrophes—nuclear meltdowns, fires, floods, a shortage in resources, a constant struggle for survival. It started to turn into the kind of world where it was everyone for themselves.

One day a massive earthquake struck Volterra. Everyone panicked—it's funny how some vampires act just like humans when faced with calamity. The ceiling fell, trapping many. I distinctly remember Jane trying to find Alec, using her deadly power on anyone who got in her way. I stayed calm, letting the falling chunks of stone hit me. I still knew I was a vampire. I still knew that my hard flesh could pulverize any rock. Soon the earthquake subsided, and I was still standing, completely safe. As far as I knew, everyone else was trapped in the rubble.

I climbed over the remains of the building. There was a small fire from a fallen torch, contained by the inflammable rock. I found a piece of wood and dipped it in. Then I made my way back to where I knew the other vampires had to be, setting fire to everything I saw. When I was sure my work was done, I left the scene, satisfied.

But I wasn't stupid. I knew that probably many vampires still survived. So I had to get out of there. I had to leave Volterra, leave Italy, perhaps even leave Europe. I started running to an airport—not the nearest one, since that would surely be destroyed.

I reached my destination quickly. On my way, I noticed plenty of mortals caught under debris. Some even had the nerve to call out to me for help. But I ignored them.

The airport was only slightly affected by the earthquake. I decided not to bother with a ticket since all I needed to do was get out of the country. Anyways, there might not have been any more flights leaving. So I ran straight to the runway.

To my surprise, there was a plane there. It was quite large. I had no idea where it was going, or why it was taking off now, for that matter. But I swiftly ran up to it from behind, and leaped up. I managed to grab the tail right before the plane started pulling forward. It started gaining speed. I was in position, ready for a long flight.

And it was long. But I managed.

I remember when the plane landed. I didn't recognize where I was, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that I crossed an ocean, and was probably somewhere in the Americas.

I leaped off my position on the tail and ran. I think I jumped a few fences, but honestly my mind was mainly on the fact that I could actually move freely again after countless hours. I heard humans yelling at me, probably wondering who I was and where I was going, but I evaded them easily. Soon, I found myself in the middle of a deserted city. Something had happened in that place, something that made everyone evacuate—I had no idea why there would be an airport in use near there, but then again, I had run a long way.

I stayed in the lonely city for a while, until my thirst became too overpowering. I started wandering, looking for prey.

It took me a while to find anyone to kill. Everywhere I went I saw the same thing—abandoned cities, stretches of empty highways…

That part of my life was particularly boring.

Skip forward a hundred years or so, and the small population of humans left in the country that I finally identified as the United States of America had almost completely killed each other off while battling for resources. The survivors decided that the wars needed to stop. They collaborated, creating fourteen communities. Thirteen of them were doing the labor—obtaining the resources needed for survival (and some more lavish things), and distributing them equally among their fellow communities. The fourteenth was the home of the government. I quickly realized that this was my chance to start playing with these humans.

I opted for a smaller position in this new government, reasoning that I could get my big chance at power later. I was a part of councils and senates, and slowly our fourteen communities grew larger. They all turned into districts—all except our fourteenth community, which stayed a bustling, single city where the politicians lived. It was the Capitol of our new country, which we started calling Panem.

Everything was going great. I even retired, opting to live a life of luxury in the Capitol. People told me that I had earned it, that I had vastly helped Panem become the perfectly functioning system it was. And soon more politicians started doing the same thing—their jobs were done. Everything became more efficient, and soon more and more people found themselves owning shops and diving into the glamorous life. No one thought of moving to one of the districts, which were starting to overwork themselves in order to fuel the great demand of the Capitol. Instead, odd fashions and lavish food and spectacular entertainment blossomed. I must say, it was a very comfortable life. A life that one would get used to and finally forget that a thing such as work ever existed.

Decades passed, maybe even a century or two, before the districts figured out what an imbalance in power there was. Then they got angry. They would stop filling their quotas, and instead fill people's heads with rebellious thoughts. But when they were caught up in the image of the lazy Capitol citizen who never worked in their life, they forgot all about the power-hungry politicians. A war ensued, and the districts soon realized that they were up against something more powerful than they originally anticipated. But they kept fighting. And it seemed like the fighting would never end.

I didn't take a very large part in it. I just watched, like so many other Capitol citizens. I watched as so many died from both sides, and was reminded of the original battles, the original battles that led to the peaceful creation of Panem.

The Capitol side eventually won—and I must say they ended it well. They pretended to annihilate District Thirteen, while actually commanding them to live underground, off the radar of everyone in the other districts. Their nuclear weapons, which could have destroyed the Capitol, were never used.

The districts were somewhat beat back into submission, but the politicians were nervous. What could they do to prevent this from happening again?

Eventually, I got a phone call. I was surprised. I went out of my way to avoid people. No one knew my phone number.

I walked to the phone, and hesitantly answered it.

"Is this the Snow residence?" an unfamiliar female voice asked me.

"Yes." I replied.

"Is there a relative of Marcus Snow available?"

Marcus Snow. That was the name I went by in my politician days. How long ago was that? How many generations away did I have to pretend to be?

"I'm his great-grandson, Coriolanus Snow." I've always loved making up names for myself, and Coriolanus seemed like it would do. It was so much grander than Marcus. And I had been Marcus since birth. It was time to change things up.

"Mr. Snow, would it be possible for you to attend a meeting, tomorrow at noon, in President Greene's home? I don't know if you know much about your great-grandfather, but—"

"I know plenty about my great-grandfather. I've been told that I am very similar to him, in fact."

"Do you think you could make a very important decision, based on what you think your great-grandfather would do?"

I smiled. "Yes. I am quite sure that I could do that. Where did you say I had to be again?"

The voice repeated her previous statements, and I copied the information down on a scrap of paper, though I knew that I wouldn't forget it.

The next day, at noon, I arrived at President Greene's residence. President Greene had led Panem throughout the war with the rebellious districts. I think I respected him the most out of any human I had ever met. However, I did think that I would do a much better job in his position.

I think that's when I first started toying with the idea of becoming president.

I was led to a conference room of sorts. Nine other people were there, filling nine of the ten chairs in the room. I was the last to arrive.

As I took my seat, a man I recognized as President Greene himself rose. "You might be wondering why I have gathered you all here today. We are here to discuss a very important matter. The districts have just rebelled, and it is my personal belief that we are not showing them just how powerful we are during peacetime. I have an idea, but I need your opinions. You are the descendants of some of the most influential people in Panem's creation, members of the original dysfunctional oligarchy…"

Some had snickered, but I was too busy thinking. An oligarchy? I never thought of myself as part of an oligarchy. But I suppose I was. In the beginning years, there wasn't a single ruler, just the ruling council… which I was a part of. But we didn't get much done, as we argued most of the time.

"…so I thought it would be fitting for you to decide whether or not my idea is right for our situation."

A woman who appeared older than I was—I had taken advantage of the age-reversing surgeries the Capitol developed—raised her hand. "President Greene, what is your idea?"

"The Hunger Games." he stated proudly. "I don't have all the details worked out, just the basics. But imagine this… each of the twelve remaining districts sends in two 'tributes', a boy and a girl. They'll be children, probably from the ages of eleven to eighteen. These tributes will enter an arena in some secret location out in the wilderness. It'll be filled with all kinds of traps, maybe even wild animals too. In some central location, there will be basic supplies—food and such—and also weapons. Tributes will die—either because they got killed by other tributes, starved to death, or got caught in one of the arena's traps. The last tribute remaining gets some sort of prize and their district gets plenty of glory, until the next Hunger Games. The whole thing would be recorded, and it would probably be mandatory for all of Panem to watch it."

"What use is that?" asked the man to my right.

"Well, it will show the districts that we can take their children and make them kill each other. It reminds them that we are all-powerful, and they will never be able to successfully rebel. It's also an opportunity for the districts to compete. I'm sure some children will dream of the fame and the prize. And it's entertainment for the Capitol citizens."

"You are sick." the man to my right replied.

"Maybe he's not." piped up a woman across the table. "It'll stop the districts from rebelling any time soon."

"But forcing their children to kill each other? That just makes them want to rebel even more!"

"It reminds them of their inferiority!" exclaimed a man. "Their conditions already make them want to rebel! Once they get used to sending children to these Hungry Games—"

"Hunger Games." corrected President Greene.

"Right, sorry. Once they get used to sending children to the Hunger Games, they'll just think it's a part of their life that they can't change. They won't rebel because they won't be united… because each district is competing for the prize!"

The debate raged on and on, and the more I heard, the more I thought they were a great idea—in addition to being my chance to use these humans as my toys.

Eventually, President Greene waved his hands, stopping the people at the table from arguing more. "I think we're all pretty set in our opinions now," he said, "and we won't be making any more progress by discussing it further. I say we take a vote. Ms. Stein?"

The woman across from me cleared her throat. "The Hunger Games need to happen. I vote yes." she said.

President Greene asked us each in turn. I was the last to vote. It was tied—four in favor of the Hunger Games, four against them.

"Mr. Snow?"

I looked around at everyone at the table.

Even then, I knew was about to change Panem's history. Did I know that I was going to slowly rise to power after President Greene died? Did I know that I was going to do anything I could to become his successor, including arson, poisoning, and devouring my opponents in true vampire fashion? No. But I did know that I had to get in on the Hunger Games, and that I couldn't pass up this opportunity to have the most truly sadistic fun I'd probably ever have in my life. It didn't matter if President Greene was able to call the Hunger Games his creation. It didn't matter if he was alive to oversee the first twenty-eight Games before dying what was reported as a natural death in his magnificent home. I was the one who took them from there and improved them. I was the one who allowed them to start with three little words.

I remember looking at President Greene dead in the eyes as I said them. The whole room was silent as I opened my mouth.

"I vote yes."


End file.
